Fixations And Derealizations
by evilexboyfriend
Summary: Jimmy Novak has an angel in his head. Dean Winchester is trying to pull his lover back to reality, and Castiel is trying to pull him back to insanity. AU- schizophrenic!Jimmy/Dean. Full summary and explanation inside.


_A/N:_ _Oh, God, I know, I **swear** I **am** still writing Fear in Discovery, but I've caught the Supernatural bug, I'm sorry. __Alright, you know my love for AUs and this one hit me one night so I thought I'd give it a shot. Jimmy/Dean because despite my burning passion for Destiel, Jimmy Novak is my homeboy and **so** easy to play around with.  
Disclaimer: I know I need to be careful where I tread with the subject of any mental illness, and schizophrenia is not something I have personal experience of so I am trying to handle it delicately. This fic will probably include exaggerations of symptoms/extreme cases and rough edges. If anyone struggles with it and thinks I am doing this awfully, or if anyone knows a lot about the condition and wishes to talk to me about it to help me with this then please do message me, preferably on my tumblr which is isitmadness or you can email me at frankie-of-middle-earth at hotmail dot co dot uk.  
_

_All that aside, this fic will probably be mature in later chapters because I can't resist a bit of sexy times, and as per usual, pretty darn angsty. Uh.. yeah.  
_

_Castiel is a presence in Jimmy's mind. Castiel isn't malicious or evil; in fact he's quite the opposite. But Jimmy's getting worse and Castiel's getting louder. As Jimmy loses his grip on reality, obsessed with the idea that the angel in his head needs his body as a vessel to stop the apocalypse, can Dean help him deflect this all-consuming derealization and find himself and the man Dean loves, or is his partner's sanity a lost cause?  
_

* * *

"Hey," Dean called; voice gruff from sleep. He strolled into the kitchen where Jimmy was sat at their little round, wooden table, head bowed, face in his hands. "Bad night?"

Jimmy didn't look up, only hummed in agreement.

It was hardly like Dean had to ask; it wasn't often he woke up to an empty bed. Even less often he woke to an empty bed at _three o'clock in the morning_.

Dean walked over to his partner and placed a hand on each of his hunched shoulders, pressing a kiss to his temple. His dark hair was messier than usual and stuck up in all directions- a style Dean recognized as Jimmy's I-Can't-Sleep-Maybe-Running-My-Fingers-Through-My-Hair-All-Night-Will-Help look. It tickled when Dean rested his chin atop his head.

"He wouldn't let me sleep," Jimmy mumbled. His voice was rough and low and a bit too much like someone else's.

Dean began to rub circles into the base of Jimmy's neck with his thumbs, smiling slightly as the man leant into his touch. As he straightened up Jimmy's head dropped back against Dean's chest, eyes closed, shadows hanging beneath them, knitted brows relaxing just slightly.

"You're still taking your meds, right?"

Jimmy sighed. "You know I am."

"I know," Dean hesitated before adding; "Maybe we should go back to the hospital?"

Jimmy sat up then, blue eyes opening wide, shaking his head.

"No," he said firmly. "I _hated_ it, Dean. It's fine, honestly-"

Dean groaned, wandering if it was really fine, why did they have this conversation every other day lately.

"If you're not sleeping-"

"Dean, stop it," Jimmy warned. He cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly, voice dipping quieter. "He was just talkative last night. He doesn't _do_ talkative; he's _him_."

Dean took a deep breath and slumped down in the chair next to Jimmy.

"Yeah, I know," he said, resigned. "But if he starts up too many more midnight chats, promise you'll tell me?"

Jimmy smiled and kissed Dean on the cheek. "Since when do I keep things from you?"

* * *

Dean remembers the first time he'd met Castiel. It had been late. It was always late when Castiel showed up.

He knew about him, of course. Jimmy had told Dean about Castiel long before they had even crossed the line from friends to kind-of-awkward-glances to okay-I-think-I'm-in-love-with-you. But he'd never met the angel until after he and Jimmy had moved in together, in their shabby little suburban house which was so _shit_ and so perfect for them.

He'd gone on a night out with Sam and his new girlfriend- terrifying personality, great knockers; Ruby… something. Jimmy had been getting skittish and edgy and sometimes quiet and sometimes argumentative and pretty withdrawn and _not Jimmy_ and Dean had really wanted to stay in with him but the man had just smiled and waved him away with one of his "I'm fine"s and "I'm just tired"s. Dean had shrugged and kissed him and ignored the way Jimmy _flinched_ like he was embarrassed or something, and returned about three hours later.

Jimmy was sat in the centre of their bed, cross-legged and staring straight ahead.

For some reason it made Dean nervous. He narrowed his eyes and shrugged off his coat and began to move slowly into the bedroom.

"Jimmy?" he kept his voice low. Jimmy didn't move. "Hey, Jimmy, you alright?"

Jimmy ignored him and leant forwards a little, as though listening to something fascinating. Oh. _Oh_.

"Is Castiel here?"

The man on the bed finally looked up at Dean and blinked owlishly.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Can't you see him?"

* * *

The angel was just another part of his life, now. Another piece of furniture in his bizarre life. Most days Jimmy didn't mention him, which Dean took to mean that most days Jimmy didn't see him. Sometimes he'd wake at fuck-knows-when in the morning to hear the television on or clunking in the kitchen and Jimmy at the sink, washing dishes that were already clean, half asleep and mumbling about how Castiel told him they were filthy. Ninety percent of the time Dean would convince Jimmy to come back to bed, to go the fuck to sleep, but sometimes it was harder. Sometimes he'd sit up with Jimmy as he talked to the space in front of him for hours on end, trying to grasp what the exchange between his partner and the mess in his head was about. Sometimes he'd sit up with Jimmy as he leant into Dean's embrace, stroking his hair and shushing his exhausted tears, listening to him mutter about how he was tired, so fucking tired, it was four o'clock, why wouldn't Castiel leave him alone, didn't he understand he couldn't handle his requests when he was so confused, so hazy from lack of sleep?

Once Jimmy had screamed at him- really _screamed_, and that terrified Dean because Jimmy got angry, he got upset, but he never _unravelled_, was never as _frantic_ as Dean saw him that night.

_Get **out**, go **away**, Dean, you can't hear this, you can't be here, this is **important**, leave us alone, **leave us alone!**_

Dean winced at the memory. He'd never asked what Jimmy and Castiel had been talking about, and Jimmy never told him. They never brought it up, and Dean didn't really mind. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

He reached for the empty glass and turned the tap on, filling it with water.

_Since when do I keep things from you?_

Dean took a sip and resisted the urge to check the little orange pill bottle by the fridge.

* * *

_A/N: Hm. Let's see where this goes._


End file.
